


Twenty Times The More

by sumhowe_sailing



Series: Daisy is too good, too pure [1]
Category: David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
Genre: First Kiss, Hero Worship, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:57:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9843956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumhowe_sailing/pseuds/sumhowe_sailing
Summary: David worships Steerforth, and Steerforth loves to be worshiped.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm barely past the scene I quote at the beginning in the book, and, Dickens being the way he is, I may well regret this later. If there's anything gross or offensive about this please let me know and I'll take it down.

_'Ah, Steerforth! It's well for you to joke about the poor! You may skirmish with Miss Dartle, or try to hide your sympathies in jest from me, but I know better. When I see how perfectly you understand them, how exquisitely you can enter into happiness like this plain fisherman's, or humour a love like my old nurse's, I know that there is not a joy or sorrow, not an emotion, of such people, that can be indifferent to you. And I admire and love you for it, Steerforth, twenty times the more!'_

_He stopped, and, looking in my face, said, 'Daisy, I believe you are in earnest, and are good. I wish we all were!' Next moment he was gaily singing Mr. Peggotty's song, as we walked at a round pace back to Yarmouth._

 

After the waiter had left and the two were comfortably sharing a decanter by Steerforth’s hearth, alone for the evening at last, David Copperfield was surprised—very pleasantly so—when Steerforth suddenly asked him:

“Daisy, my dear boy, won’t you come sit by me?”

The little couch he was reclining on didn’t seem to be made for two—at least not two (mostly) grown men—but if it was Steerforth’s whim that David should sit by him, then sit by him he would. Steerforth inched himself to one edge, still leaning back at his ease. David sat awkwardly beside him, trying not to crowd him too much.

A moment later, Steerforth was refilling both their glasses. As he turned a little to face David, their legs pressed together and David could not help blushing. Steerforth smiled his brilliant smile and raised his glass, saying, “To you, my innocent Daisy.”

“To you, my dear Steerforth.” After that, they sipped away in silence for a while. Steerforth seemed to be contemplating the fire, and David was furtively contemplating Steerforth. Eventually, Steerforth roused himself to refill their empty glasses.

“Well, what shall we drink to this time?”

Caught off guard by the question—he’d been distracted staring at the grace of Steerforth’s hands—David said the first thing that leapt to mind: “I’d be happy to drink your health again.”

“No,” Steerforth laughed, “that won’t do. What about your little Emily?”

David consented heartily, and they drank a toast in her honor. After a few moments more of silence, Steerforth spoke up again.

“What you said before…you ought not to have said it.”

“What do you mean, Steerforth?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. Was Steerforth’s modesty such that he couldn’t even listen to someone drink his health?

“In the lane, do you remember? You said such things about me as I should blush to hear, I’m sure, if it were anyone else but you. And then...do you remember?”

“When…when we were talking about Ham and Little Emily?” David asked, blushing again that Steerforth should have paid such attention to what he said.

“You said you admired and loved me twenty times the more.”

“Yes, I dare say I did,” David agreed, “and I’d say it again in a heartbeat if you asked.”

“Would you?” Steerforth asked in a peculiar tone.

“Oh yes, a thousand times over. For I do, you know, I really do.”

“You would hate me if you really knew all about me.”

“Impossible!” he cried, truly shocked that Steerforth could entertain the thought even for a moment. “I could never, _never_ hate you, Steerforth. Nothing you could do or say could make me love you any less.”

“Nothing?” Steerforth repeated, with a strange sort of expression, caught somewhere between an amused smirk and an intent, wistful look. “Suppose I hit you—knocked you down? Wouldn’t you be angry with me then?”

“I—” David was bewildered. What did he mean? Did he only want reassurance? Was this a test to see if he was in earnest? “I don’t think you would do such a thing.”

“But if I did?”

“Then…why, then I would wonder what I had done to provoke you.”

“Ah, Daisy, you dear boy—and suppose I—” Steerforth was staring hard at him, as if waiting for an answer to the question he had not finished. David, drawn by the mysterious light in his eyes, leaned closer.

“Yes? Suppose you did what, Steerforth?”

“Something…truly scandalous—unforgivable. Something like—“ and again he cut himself off, but this time the question was clear as Steerforth closed the gap between them and brushed his lips against David’s. It was as though his soul was on fire; something within him seemed to have caught and burst in the heat of that soft kiss. When Steerforth pulled away, the entire world seemed colder. Too dazed to speak, David simply stared.

“Well, are you shocked?”

“Yes.” It was true, but not until he saw Steerforth’s eyebrows knit together in concern did he realize it was not the answer he ought to have given. He hastened to add, “But that is not to say that I am scandalized. I do not, _could not_ stop loving you for—Indeed, I—I—” he did not have the words to tell Steerforth how much infinitely more he loved him now than he had just moments ago. He did not dare to kiss him again, much as he desperately wanted to, but he reached for Steerforth’s hand, hoping that this gesture might make his feelings clear.

Steerforth was unresponsive at first, simply looking at David with an unreadable expression. Then, he raised the hand David offered, transferring his attention to that alone. As he stroked David’s fingers, David felt his heartbeat quicken so much he felt that too must burst. When Steerforth lifted it to his lips, David felt he must be in a dream; surely reality never offered so much happiness at once. When Steerforth laid his cheek in David’s palm, glancing at him through half-closed lids, he could contain himself no longer.

“Oh Steerforth!” he cried, reaching with his other hand to cradle the other cheek, wanting, but still not daring, to pull him into another embrace, “Dear, good, Steerforth, don’t you know how much I love you? How much I’ve always loved you?”

“Always?” Steerforth asked, arching one eyebrow.

“Yes, always. I think from the very moment I met you I could not do otherwise.” He was tempted to go rambling on, but Steerforth had taken both of David’s wrists and was pulling his hands away from his face. Feeling his heart plummet, David thought perhaps he had gone too far. Perhaps Steerforth had only meant to shock him after all. Perhaps it had only been a game to Steerforth, and David had made himself a fool. Dear God, what if he had offended him by being so eager to play along? He started to draw back, was trying to think of some excuse to flee—but Steerforth did not let him go. Instead, he pulled David closer, gripped his wrists more tightly, and inclining his head just slightly towards David, asked, “Why?”

“Why?” David laughed. “Why, because you are the very best man I have ever known. Even as a boy I knew your friendship was the most precious thing I could ever have. Because you have always been so kind to me, and to the others I care about. Because you are so clever, so talented. Because you are the handsomest man anyone could dream of. Because you are the soul of generosity and wisdom—”

As he was speaking, Steerforth had silently urged David to wrap his arms around Steerforth, releasing his wrists at last. Then he had let his own hands wander down to David’s waist, where his thumbs were now rubbing small circles with a gentle pressure. In spite of his shirt and waistcoat, David could feel the action so vividly Steerforth may as well have been plying his bare skin. He was suddenly almost dizzy, too distracted to speak. Steerforth guided the younger man onto his lap, holding him carefully, like some delicate vase. David was flushed with pleasure at the new situation. It would have felt exceedingly wrong to be straddling anyone else like this, but Steerforth was so gentle, so inviting, he made it all feel right.  

“Say it again, Daisy.” This time, he did not have to ask what Steerforth meant. He couldn’t understand how someone so wonderful, someone who _must_ be universally admired, could seem so starved for simple affection—but it was not for him to question. Steerforth had asked for a favor, and he was only too happy to grant it.

“I love you, Steerforth—”

“James, dear Daisy, call me James.”

“James,” he whispered, almost awed. Steerforth— _James_ wanted this intimate familiarity from him, _him!_ “James,” he muttered again, the word alone sending a thrill through him. He saw that James had closed his eyes, as if to let the words alone wash over him without distraction. This disturbed him; it seemed to set up a wall, a separation between them. He did not want any distance there. As he continued to murmur his beloved’s name, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against James’s, bringing his hands up to that dear man’s neck. He cupped it gently, still amazed that James was allowing this. He let one thumb reach up just enough to stroke along the lower edge of his jawbone. He was beginning to wonder at his own boldness when he felt James respond, sliding his hands up from David’s waist to his shoulders, the slight pressure enough to make it clear he did not want David to retreat so much as an inch.

“James,” David muttered again, grinning, glad for the silent reassurance, “I love you. I love you more than I ever knew it was possible to—you are so wonderful, so kind, so good—“ he would have said more, could have gone on all night in this half-coherent way, if James had not just then tilted his head to press his lips to David’s once more.

The heat of that mouth on his, the subtle, shifting pressure made David go faint. He was glad—doubly glad—to be already in James’s arms, because if he weren’t, he surely would have fallen into them now. David reveled in it as long as he could, trying to hold out as long as James did, but eventually he had to pull away, gasping for air. James would not let him go so easily. He only gave David a brief moment to breathe before pulling him down again, pressing their mouths eagerly together while David’s was still open. He did not understand at first what this new, questing force on his lips and against his tongue was. When he realized, when he understood, he really thought he might faint from the sheer pleasure of it. He could feel his hands trembling as they held James to him and hoped James would not notice his weakness. Somebody was moaning; he realized later as he tried to understand all the ways his body had reacted to Steerforth’s that it must have been himself.

Then, all too soon, James was turning his head away. David went on kissing his cheek, his neck, whatever he could reach, murmuring words of love as he did so. James tolerated it for a minute, before saying in a soft yet firm way, “No, Davey my boy, no more just now.” He stopped. He wondered if James felt as shaky as he did—if they were just waiting for that trembling to cease. He noticed James did not push him away; he did not even loosen his hold on David. So he buried his face in the crook of James’s elegant neck, content to hold and be held as he breathed in the scent of the sea and the smoke and a faint note of sweat from James’s skin.

“I think,” James said at last, still breathing heavily, “that perhaps it is time to say goodnight.” David sat up straight at once, looking with dismay down into Steerforth’s face.

“But why?”

“I am…rather tired.” David could not think what to say. He did not want to force his company on Steerforth a moment longer than it was wanted, but to leave _now_? It was more than he could bear. In a moment, Steerforth had recovered himself and was asking David to climb off of him in his usual cheerful, agreeable manner. Of course David complied, turning away as he stood so James could not see the disappointment on his face.

“Well,” he said at last, struggling to keep the emotion from his voice, “I would not want to keep you.”

“Here, let me help you with your jacket,” it was a gentle, conciliating offer. But Steerforth’s hands did not linger as he helped him—there was nothing in his brusque touch now that would indicate how intimate they had been just minutes ago. Then Steerforth was leading him to the door. When David turned to face him at last, to say goodnight, the merriment in Steerforth’s eyes only made him feel worse.

“Why, Daisy my dear, you look as if your heart would break,” Steerforth laughed. David tried to wrestle his expression back under his control—a vain effort.

“I only wish you wouldn’t send me away. Every moment away from you is—“

“Hush, Daisy, hush. You know your old nurse is expecting you; what would she do if you did not come? What would she think?”

The thought of Peggotty waiting anxiously by the door for him, frantically searching the streets when it got too late for him to still be out by choice, worried about him all night long, had the desired effect. He knew his resignation must show in his face because James laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “There’s a good boy.”

David dropped his eyes, ashamed to have acted so foolishly in front of his idol. But, as always, James did not seem to hold it against him. He set a finger beneath David’s chin and nudged his face upwards again. He leaned down to kiss David tenderly one last time before ushering him out the door.


End file.
